Chapter 11
OTHELLA
The Savoy Ballroom, Chicago
As Robbie and I prepare to leave the Abbotts’ house for the LaSalle Street Train Station, I think about the past few hours and how much has changed. Many lies have been told and doubt still lingers inside me, but I learned a few things.
When Tony told me about Perry, and how I was suspected of killing him, I couldn’t just take his word for it.
Now, could I? Too many voices in my head kept telling me one thing: Perry spoke to me before I left the apartment.
He was alive. But what if he wasn’t? I had to be sure.
So, while I was still at the Savoy, I made a call.
After changing my clothes, I slipped into an empty back room with a telephone and dialed the Deering Street Police Station.
A smart move for a gal in my profession is to make friends with members of the Chicago Police Department. The telephone conversation went like this:
“Officer Bowers, here.”
“Richie, do you know who’s calling you? You recognize my voice?”
“Yeah, I do, and you shouldn’t be calling me unless it’s to give yourself up.”
My stomach dropped. “So, it’s true? The cops are looking for me?”
“You betcha. You killed your old man. Most of the cops in the 4th Ward are after you.”
“I didn’t kill nobody. We had one of those fights we always have. Nothing serious. A few punches were thrown, and I hit him with an ashtray to keep him off me.” My throat felt like dust. “Is he really dead?”
“As a doorknob.” Someone shouted at Richie to hurry up. “I gotta go.” Then he spoke so quietly I could barely hear him. “My advice to you, girl, is to get lost—and stay lost.”
“Sure, I’ll do that. Thanks for the advice. Just one thing. Why did the police decide it was me so fast? They ain’t lookin’ for nobody else?”
“A witness ratted you out, kid.” There was more shouting in the background, but Richie, thank the Lord, didn’t hang up. “They heard the fight, saw you run out of the apartment like the devil was chasing you, and then they went inside and found Perry dead on the floor.”
“We got nosy neighbors, but none that nosy. Who’s this witness?”
“I ain’t telling you that. I’m being nice to you ’cause up till now, you ain’t done nothing but steal shit. The most harm you ever caused was breaking a few men’s hearts and wallets—but murder is different, Othella.”
“I swear he was alive when I left. Or at least I thought he was.”
But the line was dead. Richie had hung up, and I wasn’t talking to nobody but myself.
The shock I felt in that moment is probably why I forgot about my suitcase until now.
Major Thomas offered to pay my way to Jamaica as an assistant to Robbie Barnes. What else could I say but yes? Robbie explained that we’d help Katherine Dunham and the major’s daughter with some anthropological fieldwork. Whatever that was.
But who am I to care, as long as it gets me outta Chicago? And on a midnight train to boot?
Just one more thing to do: get the suitcase I left at the Savoy Ballroom.
I tell Robbie Barnes he’ll have to pick up my suitcase but I can’t go in with him to the Savoy.
He looks at me kinda funny. “I know it’s an odd request,” I say, eyelids fluttering.
And that’s enough for him to agree to do it.
In fact, he’s so excited about our mutual travel plans that he’d agree to most anything I ask.
He surprises me, though, and handles the task without a hitch.
Perhaps, I’m judging him too quick. Who would’ve thought someone like Robbie Barnes could be slick?
Robbie and I arrive at LaSalle Street Station with time to spare.
It is enormous. Thousands of people crowd the main waiting room, with its high ceilings and long black benches, which remind me of the AME Fellowship Church, a thought I don’t welcome. It’s almost as hot as the church, too. Even at almost midnight, Chicago can’t escape the sweltering heat.
Once inside, I head to the Negro women’s restroom to change out of my fancy gown and into my traveling outfit.
First off, I tie my hair back in a ponytail.
Then I put on a navy-blue jumper with large rose buttons, a rose-colored blouse, a matching belt, and Oxford shoes.
Because I never know what role I might play, I pack as much as possible.
When I return to the main waiting room, I follow Robbie’s instructions. Clutching my ticket, I present it to the ticket agent before entering the concourse lobby. From there, I make my way to the last row of pews closest to LaSalle Street.
Robbie is waiting. “Our train departs from Track 10.”
“This is a fancy train, isn’t it?”
“Red carpet service all the way, but we have regular tickets, not the expensive ones.”
He leads me to the boarding area, where we find two seats on a bench near the back of the crowded room. “You look different, like a schoolgirl,” he says shyly.
“Should I take that as a compliment?” I raise an eyebrow. “And look at you with your brown slacks, white shirt, no tie, cloth jacket, and newsboy cap. I’d say we both look like schoolchildren.”
“I look my age,” Robbie replies seriously. “I’m nineteen. How old are you?”
“Nineteen, too.”
“When I first saw you, I thought you were older.”
“Now, is that a nice thing to say to a girl?”
He looks stricken, and I laugh. “Just more mature. Not old.”
Before I can jab him some more, a sound like a siren wails through the room, and I nearly jump out of my skin.
“The train is boarding,” Robbie says. “We’ve got to go.”
We grab our luggage and head onto the platform with a bunch of other Negroes. Moments later, we are seated next to each other on a hard bench in the last car of the train, the colored car.
It’s smoky, noisy, and filled with the smell of food: fresh biscuits, stew, chicken, rice, and pies. I even catch a whiff of booze.
“How long is the trip to New York?” I ask Robbie.
“This is the fastest train around. It takes only seventeen hours, not counting delays. That’s three hours faster than it was last year.”
I shrug, not caring so much about how fast it goes, as long as it hurries up and pulls outta the station.
My heart swells with joy as the train departs at midnight—right on time. Relief washes over me like fresh rain. I am safe. I am leaving Chicago. And no one will know where to find me.
Not Tony Schaefer, not Jerry Merriweather, and not the cops. My whole body relaxes as if I’ve just sunk into a warm bath filled with rose water and jasmine.
A lady sitting across from Robbie and me opens a grease-stained paper bag and pulls out a tin that smells like chicken, rice, fried onions, and cornbread.
“Did you bring anything for us to eat?”
Robbie looks at me with a distressed expression. “Sorry, I didn’t bring anything except my luggage and a few supplies in my knapsack. Major Thomas arranged to transport the crate of supplies we’ll need and—”
Raising my hand, I stop him. “Just say, I didn’t bring any food.” I groan. “Are there dining cars on this train? I heard the 20th Century Limited served some good food in the dining cars.”
“It’s pretty pricey,” Robbie grimly explains. “Major Thomas didn’t give me much pocket change. We’ll have to wait and eat in New York.”
“I’ll starve to death by then.” Agitated, I study my surroundings.
I might be able to scrounge up enough money using my queen-of-the-fingersmiths skills to buy some food.
But I shouldn’t even be thinking about stealing.
What about my fresh start? I tap Robbie on the knee.
“I thought Mrs. Hartfield and Miss Katherine would be on this train with us. If they’re on board, they might treat us to dinner. ”
“I saw them when I went to find a redcap. They have a berth in a sleeping car, but we won’t be able to see them until we arrive at Grand Central Station.”
My disappointment knows no bounds. “Well, that’s just peachy.”
“You didn’t expect them to be back here with us, did you?” he says.
“I didn’t know what to expect. You’re the one who’s probably made this trip a dozen times.”
“I’m not as much of a man of the world as you might think.”
“Then this trip will be an adventure for both of us,” I try not to sound as unhappy or hungry as I feel.
Without a promise of nourishment, I accept my fate: sleeping while hungry.
After a while, the train’s rocking numbs my empty stomach and I feel drowsy.
I tuck my legs beneath me until I’m comfortable, fold my arms across my chest, and rest my head on Robbie’s shoulder.
The next thing I know, the train is jerking to a stop, and I wake up with my head in Robbie’s lap.
I sit up straight, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. “Where are we? What time is it?”
“About five o’clock, but we haven’t gotten too far. We’re picking up passengers in Toledo, Ohio.” He pulls back the curtains and looks out the window.
“Sorry for falling asleep on you,” I say.
“I didn’t mind.” He removes his cap and squeezes it in his hands. “I have a confession to make. I hope you can forgive me, but tonight wasn’t the first time I’ve seen you.”
I start to sift through my collection of lies. “Oh, really? Where was that?”
“Dancing at the Savoy Ballroom.”
This could mean nothing or everything, depending on whether I was out on a night on the town or working. “I love to dance. I used to go to the Savoy a lot. Do you dance? Do you like jazz? With your education, background, and upbringing, a young man like you would have been a regular at the Savoy.”
He swallows nervously. “I also saw you at that black-and-tan on 55th and State, the Club DeLisa.”
“Oh, yeah. I went there a few times.” Now that’s different.
The DeLisa brothers owned that spot. They also ran the gambling hall in the basement.
If Robbie had seen me there, he would know more about me than was safe.
“You decided to keep that a secret, huh?” I moisten my lips.
“You didn’t tell Major Thomas or his daughter, Miss Vivian Jean, or Katherine Dunham, did you? ”